The London readers. First (-Sixth) reader

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Page 219 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Page 219 - Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still...
Page 214 - Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm ; A creature of heroic blood, A proud though childlike form. The flames...
Page 233 - My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not .here ; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — , My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Page 225 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Page 209 - ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase !) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold : — Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, " What writest thou ? " — The Vision raised its head And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answer'd, " The names of those who love the Lord.
Page 212 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light. And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast...
Page 222 - THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the...
Page 226 - Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven Far flashed the red artillery.
Page 167 - The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old fashion ! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion — Death...

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